


We'll shine like stars

by fouroux



Category: U2
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, and a little dirty, basically adorable babies being adorable, boy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/pseuds/fouroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys will be boys. Horny, and ready to conquer the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll shine like stars

**Author's Note:**

> Still warming up, still coming up with nonsense scenes. I hope people'll have fun reading it as much as I had fun writing it. Once again, thanks to the lovely spacemonkey for putting up with my garbage. All remaining mistakes are my own. No harm intended.

“I'll be outside, have to take a piss.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, me, too!”  
  
Shoving his half-finished beer into the hands of a startled young Larry, Edge pushes his way through the crowded little backstage area of the club, trying not to grin just yet as he slaloms past strangers, instruments and Adam's observing glance from the back; following a pair of black jeans away from the stuffy air and into the autumn-chilled night of Manchester. The backdoor slams shut, the music dies down to a bassy hum, feet stumble and boys giggle. Then they kiss.  
  
It's the thrill, they argue, of being on stage, of being heard and cheered at. Away from home, away from their parents and the expectation that they might do something proper with their lives after all. They tell themselves that they are boys, that they can't help themselves; high on post-gig adrenaline, tipsy on lukewarm beer and full with adolescent testosterone.   
  
“Over here,” Bono whispers, eager mouth pressing firmly against Edge's as he pushes the young boy against the brick wall behind a conveniently positioned dumpster, a little way from the backdoor and the main street down the alley. And yet, Edge pulls away from his hungry lips, trying to stand on his toes and peek over the dumpster to ensure they were fairly safe from unwanted observers, stumbling a little as the unyielding, hot body in front of him wouldn't give him enough space.  
  
“Bono, wait. Are we—“  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Bono urges, licks his tongue in a broad, cheeky swipe from Edge's chin to his lips, noses colliding awkwardly as they kiss again. Edge can hardly keep up, and maybe that is due to his truly sloppy kissing skills, but in fairness, they are both clumsy. Clumsy and so, so eager.  
  
“Stop that—”  
  
“Why, Edge, let me feel you,” Bono purrs, always pushing and testing the boundaries of their little secret, and Edge relents every time. Because they are boys and boys needed an outlet, right? And really, what does a hand under Edge's shirt matter, since they went from experimental kisses in hotel rooms to frantic handjobs in dark alleys?  
  
“Mmh, you taste so fucking good, Edge.”  
  
“I've got smelly breath, just like you.”  
  
“No. No, you taste—,” he ends his sentence in a sigh, breath shallow and lips swollen, teeth nipping and sharp hipbones bumping and grinding. Growing hard so fast, both their heads feel dizzy with the intensity of it. At once they break away, panting and leaning against each other forehead to forehead as they fumble with the other's belt, button and fly. Giggling as their arms and hands collide, unable to slow down and think this through. Eventually, shirt hems are pushed out of the way, trousers are successfully opened and impatient hands are digging into hot places; as skin touches skin they gasp sharply into each other's mouths.  
  
“Edge.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Edge, we'll be rockstars.”  
  
Intoxicated, his hand snug around Bono's stiffy, he grins so wide his cheeks hurt, “Yeah.”  
  
“We'll be rockstars, and they'll love us, The Edge. They'll come from all over the world to see us.”  
  
“They'll love you most, B,” Edge whispers between harsh breaths, looking into those honest blue eyes, always filled with so much joy, but also rage, and mostly love. Love and ideas and music. Eyes so wide open, Edge often catches himself hoping, no matter how far they might get in this world, that he would never lose that naïve wonder in them. “They'll love you most.”  
  
Noses touching and wet lips brushing in between words, Bono shakes his head faintly in disbelief, “We'd be nothing without you,” he whispers and while they are so close Edge is basically breathing Bono's air and Bono his, he can see him grin, wild and loving. “Our genius scientist,” he steps closer, makes it almost impossible for each of their hands to continue their impatient stroking. “Where did you even come from?” Bono mutters in wonder, brows knitting momentarily as if he truly struggles to comprehend the thought of Edge being there with them on this mad adventure. “Where did you come from, The Edge?”  
  
He tries hard to come up with a witty response. Something smart that will make Bono giggle in that husky way of his, but it's bloody difficult as it feels like there is barely enough oxygen for the both of them in this alley, and concentrating on jerking Bono off is really all his young brain can muster right now. He makes an embarrassing little noise as Bono's hand suddenly lets go of him, leaves him swollen and aching and partly sticking out into the cold night air, and watches him with wide bright eyes lick the palm of his own hand and dive it back in there. Edge yelps and, by accident, thumps his head back against the brick wall, Bono's sudden laughter ringing in his ears.  
  
“Ow, Edge, did that hurt?”  
  
“No! I-I mean yes, but no. Shit. Don't stop.”  
  
“Feels good?”  
  
“Mmh, yes...”  
  
Edge's knees nearly buckle, the with spit slicked palm of Bono's hand running up and down his shaft and over the sensitive head makes him quiver and whimper like a kitten. In a moment of bravery, he quickly decides to give Bono the same maddening feeling of a warm wet grip and licks his palm as well, underestimating the immediate smell of his fingers – _sweatskinsexBonoBonoBono_ – before he stumbles forward into the smaller, stockier body, fumbling shortly, then grabbing, stroking and pulling relentlessly.   
  
“Fuck! Edge, _wait—_ “  
  
Bono slumps against Edge's narrower set of shoulders, hips struggling between shying away from the onslaught and thrusting into the heat as fast as he can. He is heavy, heavier than Edge expects and heavier than his knees allow him to carry in his current state. But he manages, somehow he does. When Bono comes, grunting and muscles tensing, his grip squeezes around Edge's cock and falters to stroke him altogether; being so close himself, Edge nearly hisses at him not to stop, but holding his friend up and trying not to get spunk all over himself distracts him from it after all.  
  
“Christ,” Bono pants, then giggles breathlessly into Edge's sweaty neck, kisses the sharp jaw once with warm lips and tongue, the tip of his nose tickling Edge's earlobe, then draws marginally away. Catching his breath, he looks down the skinny boy's trembling frame in disbelief. “Shit, you didn't come from that? You embarrass me, Edge, how long do you even last?”  
  
“I dunno, but I'm about to burst,” he admits, biting down hard on his bottom lip as Bono attempts to pick up jerking him off again in a clumsy manner. “Crap,” he mumbles, letting go of Edge's stiffy and shaking his hand, annoyed, “my wrist is growing tired, how do you—“ Bono looks up a little worried and catches the dorky smirk on Edge's face, leaning against the wall with his red cock out and his right hand imitating lewd up and down strokes mid-air, “I play guitar.”  
  
They burst into fresh giggles, Bono's face flushed from post-high exhaustion, Edge's glowing with pent up lust. They kiss again, and it's lazy and satisfied on Bono's part and eager and hungry on Edge's. “Let me fix that for you, The Edge,” Bono purrs, blue eyes full of mischief as he pushes his shaggy brown hair away from them, then bends down.   
  
The sensation hits him right in the gut, it's sudden and it feels so good it hurts, and Edge chokes around the sob that pushes its way out of his dry throat, bending over helplessly.  
  
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_ , no—“  
  
It's hot, so unbearably hot inside Bono's mouth. Slick and soft and tight, and _ohgodohgod_ , they have never done this before, this is too much. _I'm going to die_ , he thinks for one wild second, his body leaning over Bono's uncomfortably bent back, trembling hands clutching at the sweaty black shirt for something to hold on to.  
  
What feels like an eternity of agonizing bliss to Edge, in truth, lasts only a couple of seconds. Maybe four bobs of Bono's head, three tentative sucks and two swipes of his tongue later and Edge comes, uttering the sweetest little noises Bono has ever heard. A string of recurring, high-pitched _Ohs_ and a sound so beautifully helpless, Bono is overwhelmed with the need to cry.  
  
Edge's hips twitch, then full-on thrust awkwardly into Bono's unsuspecting mouth. _I can't help it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ , and Bono pulls away with a slurping pop, missing more than half of what Edge is spilling, and brushes a wrist over his red mouth; his other arm barely keeping Edge from toppling right over him in his weakening spasms.  
  
“Beautiful,” Edge hears him distantly, for a second seriously considering whether he has just grown blind from the intensity of his orgasm. His cheeks feel wet and suddenly, he finds himself breathing hard into Bono's face as the boy leans back into him for a kiss.  
  
“Ew,” Edge burbles, their lips brushing over one another before he can prevent it, and he pulls away with an undecided look on his hot red face. Kissing, fine, jerking each other off, fine, but allowing his mouth to go _there_? _I-I'm not sure this is okay—_ “What?” Bono laughs huskily, elevated by his efforts and the way it made Edge sound. “It's you, it doesn't taste so bad.”  
  
“You're off your rocker,” Edge concludes, yet offers him a peck on the bridge of his nose instead. _Maybe it's not okay, but I like the way you look now_ , rumpled, red-cheeked, lips glistening and eyes brimming with pride and deviousness, their secret once again expanding into something more.  
  
Gently, he pushes Bono away from him to get some space, and the older boy steps back, righting his jeans, and Edge does the same with his own. Then freezes.  
  
“Shit!”  
  
“What now, Edge?”  
  
“You got my spunk all over me, you—“ Horrified, he stares down his body and wrinkled clothes, fingers sticky as he tries, disgruntled and with Bono's bellowing laughter, to wipe most of it off. “Come on, you're wearing a white shirt, no one is going to notice,” Bono points out, still laughing and stepping in, offering his own attempts at brushing him clean.  
  
“Stop it, you're making it worse,” Edge complains and turns away, concern written all over his still flushed face as he digs into his pockets and pulls out some tiny white serviettes, which he had picked up from the bar, wiping furiously.  
  
“Ah, The Edge, always prepared. Gimme one of those.”  
  
“I knew you'd mess up,” he grumbles and holds out a clean piece of tissue for Bono to take without taking his eyes from the alarmingly obvious spots on his shirt. Down the alley the backdoor opens with a creak and with it comes the loud banging and screeching of another talentless band, the stink of cigarette smoke, sweat and beer as well as loud cheering. Adam's blonde afro sticks out, searching the street for two familiar faces and finding them by a nearby dumpster; one boy looking frighteningly caught, the other smug like a cat.  
  
“All right, lads? Paul is buying another round,” Adam raises a fresh bottle of beer, the glass actually chilled and sweating in his hand, unlike the lousy beers from before.  
  
“Coming!”  
  
Impressed by Bono's ease, Edge hurries to push his dirty shirt hem into his trousers, hiding the serviettes and his hands deep inside his pockets, and turns to follow his band mates. Once half a step back inside the club, Bono swings his arm around Edge's neck, squeezes firmly and plants a big, affectionate kiss on the corner of a shy smile.  
  
_We will be okay._


End file.
